


practice makes perfect (except for Will Graham)

by sketchnurse



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Kink Meme, M/M, Will goes to the dark side, and he sucks at it, industrial strength cleaner, kidneys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchnurse/pseuds/sketchnurse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will starts helping Hannibal with the murder of the (mostly) rude. And he's terrible at it. Extremely terrible at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	practice makes perfect (except for Will Graham)

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on the Hannibal Kink Meme.

  
"Um, Hannibal?"  
  
Hannibal took a breath. It was proving to be a very trying week, and, as it had been for the last two months, it was not because of a patient.   
  
A strong smell of burnt flesh crept into the bathroom where he was shaving. The shudder he suppressed would have found his cheek nicked, had he not had the foresight to put his razor down as soon as he'd heard Will's yell.   
  
Once, he had shaved exclusively with straight razors. After a certain close call the previous Sunday, involving a not-as-dead-as-Will-thought date rapist and a basement door left unlocked, he had been forced to revise his practices.   
  
Will still laughed at his expensive imports, still insisting on shaving with some five-bladed monstrosity from Gillette. Hannibal suspected no one would be laughing when he worked up the calm to go the kitchen, where disaster was surely waiting.   
  
"Hannibal?" He was beginning to dread the sound of Will saying his name, because at present, nine times out of ten he would be asking for assistance in some situation Hannibal would not have thought him capable of botching.   
  
Kidneys. Will had been asked to defrost kidneys. If Hannibal's imagination were as wild as Will's, he would have doubtless been struck with an infinity of ways it could have gone wrong. As it were, Hannibal could picture more than enough horrifying scenarios.   
  
Usually, his personal bathroom served as a place of calm to him. Unfortunately, it was no longer the familiar room he was used to, as all of the tiles had been replaced. Someone(a certain amateur someone) had managed to get blood and viscera  _everywhere_. There had been absolutely nothing else for it.   
  
 _Sorry,_  Will had said.  _I guess I just don't have the background for butchery. Maybe it'll go better next time._  
  
It had. The butchery, that is. The whole going of things had not much improved, since Will had kept the bathroom relatively clean (or at least cleanable) but had somehow managed to get half a bloody footprint on the expensive white pile in their bedroom.   
  
That had also been the night of the date rapist's attempted escape.   
  
 _No, no, I did it right, this time. He had a bit too much of his own flunitrazipam. About twenty times too much. No mess, no worries._    
  
Five minutes later, Hannibal had nearly slashed his own throat when a very confused college linebacker had burst into the bathroom.   
  
The straight razor had, of course, ended up slashing the throat of the linebacker, but that was not the point.   
  
He had been sorely, sorely tempted to kill Will after a very shocked Mrs. Komeda had noticed a pair of lungs (lungs!) hanging around in the dining room cabinet.   
  
He had not been happy at all to have to kill Mrs. Komeda.   
  
Will had just mumbled something about putting them there temporarily before shuffling off to wash his armload of flannel shirts.   
  
All of which had been bloodstained. No one wanted to ask why Will now only wore flannels in dark red plaids.   
  
"Hannibal, I really think you need to come in here."  
  
Kidneys. Oh, all of the wrong that could have occurred with kidneys!  
  
The burnt smell intensified the closer he got to the kitchen. By the time he saw his first glimpse of Will, standing at the counter with a very puzzled look on his face, it was becoming very hard not to vomit.   
  
"Will." This was not his happy voice.  
  
"Okay, don't panic, but I think I might have defrosted it wrong."  
  
Hannibal was extremely scared to ask. Also  _might have_ , Will? Really?  
  
"How did you attempt to defrost it?"  
  
"Well, your microwave didn't have a defrost button, so I just put it on the lowest power for twenty minutes."  
  
The knives were a safe five feet away. Any sudden movements and Will would surely panic, but...  
  
"And I know you wanted that drain properly rigged up in the garage so I... left, to go look it up."  
  
"And when you came back, what was in the microwave?"  
  
"It sure didn't look like a kidney." Will laughed, altogether nervously, and Hannibal desperately tried to remind himself why he kept Will around in the first place.   
  
"It does not  _smell_  like a kidney."  
  
"I, um, I checked back on the microwave? Turns out I, uh, actually had it on full power."  
  
"And you did not notice the smell of burning flesh while you were researching?"  
  
"I might have taken the laptop into the garage. To check measurements."  
  
"I see." Will was very smart. Will understood the way he saw the world. Will had a very pleasing face and an even more pleasing body.   
  
Will had ruined all hopes of that night's dinner.  
  
He walked over to the microwave, still fighting a very unruly nausea.   
  
"Will. Do you see this button here?"  
  
"Umm..."  
  
"The one with a picture of a whole chicken, with the letters 'd', 'f', 'r', 's' and 't' on it?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"I am glad you seemed to have recovered your vision."  
  
Will looked very, very sheepish. Very apologetic. Very guilty.   
  
Hannibal was now immune to all three of these things.   
  
"Don't worry, though. No, no, you're worrying, I can see it. Don't worry. I only put one of them in, just in case!"  
  
At last. Some sign of Will's intelligence.   
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yeah, the other five are in the fridge in a bowl of water. I put the one in the microwave just in case it did work."  
  
"Then at least we have those salvaged."   
  
"We just need to clean up the microwave." Will was attempting to use his reasonable voice. Hannibal was also very much immune to that. "There's burnt kidney, um, pretty much all over its walls. And a bunch of it got on the floor."  
  
He did not know how kidney could have gotten on the floor. He did not care.   
  
"We, Will?"   
  
Hannibal chuckled. Hannibal chuckled some more. Hannibal chuckled all the way to his bedroom, where he proceeded to fall, in a manner very unlike himself, face first into the pile of down-filled pillows on their bed.   
  
He breathed in, hoping that the smell of the very expensive detergent he liked to use would calm him even an iota.   
  
It did not smell like the expensive detergent. It smelled like bile.   
  
He stormed back into the kitchen.  
  
"The pillows. Explain."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Why do they smell like vomit? They are supposed to smell like violets."  
  
"Do violets even have a smell?"  
  
"Will."  
  
"Someone may have thrown up on me."  
  
He stood at the door, the most stony and intimidating of his murder faces sitting determinedly on his features. Will winced.  
  
"Um, the daughter of that drycleaner I was supposed to get today?"  
  
"She saw you."  
  
"A little bit."  
  
"And where is she now?"  
  
"In the basement? I thought we could adopt her."  
  
Even the doorway in Hannibal's kitchen was afraid of Hannibal. If it could talk, it would probably deny having Hannibal's head slam very loudly into the wall next to it. It would also deny the groan that followed.   
  
However, this definitely did happen.   
  
Will simply bent down to the cupboard under the sink, and got out the familiar bottle of industrial strength cleaner.  
  
"Hello, my friend." Will murmured.   
  
He wondered how Hannibal managed to stay uncaught, with the very traceable gallons of the stuff that they seemed to need to buy every week...


End file.
